The Baby Momma Speaks

Now that it is over….

 Didnt see that C section coming.  I had such a great start to the day and was in the best of moods…this was going to be a great day.

Then I found myself looking into the eyes of my anesthisiologist, in an operating room about to have major surgery.

Recovery was painful, but with enough pain medication, I found out that you look at life a whole lot differantly.

I couldnt wait to hold baby Cole in my arms, to see his face, to meet the one who had grown with me for the last 9 months…..

He was so precious that I was almost sorry for all of the nasty ” stop kicking me” comments.

I got to play the “Mommy” role for 2 whole days and it felt great…..this is what I had wanted, and I knew the parents where so happy and couldnt wait to take him home.

I have to give my husband all the kudos in the world for being so great, so understanding.  He has taken care of not only me and was by myside the whole way through but to add house and home on top of it…is just amazing to me.

Husband.

Familys of surrogates, take care of the husband too. They work just as hard and are probably looked over for all of thier support, errand running, emotional support and general keeping everything together all the while watching thier wives go through pain and agony.

I can never repay my husband for what he has gone through with me but I will have the rest of my life to keep trying. 

 

It Really WAS Go Time!

So here we were late Wednesday morning, Michelle settled in at the hospital, ready for a pretty long siege/labor process lasting well into the night.

I was planning on getting at least 7 or 8 new entries onto www.guestwomb.com describing the whole process. In fact I was doing a little preemptive internet research trying to find sound byte files of famous actress screams in film/tv. You know….so I could provide some frame of reference for the noises I was expecting to last until Midnight or so.

Michelle’s doctor comes into the room and arranges for a quick ultrasound check, and I took a few moments to stretch my legs in the hallway.

When I strolled back in five minutes later, everything had changed. A flurry of five nurses were working all over Michelle. Doctors were running in and out of the room.

“Have they told you,” cried Michelle, eyes wide in shock?

“Told me what?, I asked.”

“C-Section!”

The ultrasound showed the kid’s head was jammed right up against the umbilical cord. During a long labor he would squeeze it down even further. It really WAS go time, technically an emergency C-Section although neither Michelle nor the kid were in danger at that moment.

But I guess they only have one speed when the order comes down from the doctor. 

One of the nurses threw me a package of scrubs and said, “Dad, put ‘em on….we’re going over to the operating room right now.”

Now there were two big problems with that nurse’s statement:

1. I  was not the Dad. I have made that painfully obvious through the previous 94 entries of my blog.
2. Me in operating room, around skin shredding scalpels and blood would create an entirely different medical issue. Operating table for two, please?

However when it was known that Michelle would have a general anesthetic, that ruled me out of being another casualty of squeamishness in the operating room. One crisis averted.

But then another loomed: the intended parents hadn’t even arrived at the hospital! Michelle had called them at 5 a.m. when we were on the way to the hospital, but told them it was going to be hours and hours of waiting. No rush. Take your time. Driving in from north Jersey, they wouldn’t arrive until noon or so.

So as Michelle was being quickly prepped and rushed to the operating room, I quickly dialed them on my cell phone to give them the news. Before I had a chance to say hello, one of the mom’s said: “We’re here. In the elevator”.

“Get in here fast. She’s having a C-section right now!”

……………… I’ll save the next hour of details for another time…………………………..

As they say, best laid plans and all that. But the outcome was the same. And just what we hoped for.

Cole Lewis Martino came into  the world at 12:03, about 20 minutes after that seemingly routine ultrasound check. Born with 10 little fingers, same amount of toes. Absolutely perfect condition.

Michelle’s doing great, after a pretty bad 90 minutes following the surgery because the post procedure pain management was woefully slow.  

As for me, I suffered a really annoying paper cut Thursday morning while reading the newspaper in M’s hospital room but I’m told I’ll make a full recovery.

And I’m kind of disappointed I didn’t get to use some of those movie sound bytes on the blog to provide a vivid description of the big event…..

 

BREAKING NEWS: It’s On! (At Last)

That eviction notice did the trick.

Or maybe the threat of hooking a speaker up to Michelle’s belly and blasting Wayne Newton music 24/7…….

Whatever it was….it’s worked.

Baby is on the way. No doubt about it. Michelle is at St. Mary’s Medical Center at Langhorne, PA, all hooked to tubes, wires, monitors. Rested and ready. Looking forward to her first of many epidurals.

And I’m doing fine too. Thanks for asking.

 Stay tuned.

 

Oh No….It’s Pregzilla!

In my last post — a message to the child-to-be — I asked….

No, urged him… Strongly urged.

No, that’s not right. I flat out DEMANDED that he get the hell out of Dodge. Or whatever we’re calling Michelle’s belly these days.

It had no effect. The round mound remains.

And as the days go by, my eternally cheerful, glass-half-full, happy go lucky Michelle has transformed into… Well, I think the picture below spells it out:

So I’m appealing to my readers — both of you — for ideas. How do we move things along?

One of my co-workers suggested some good spicy Pineapple salsa.

I thought maybe placing a speaker on her stomach and blasting some Wayne Newton songs might encourage him to leave.

I’m also guessing that going horseback riding is out of the question. (Poor horse).

Ideas, anyone?

 

A Special Message To The Child-To-Be

Dear Large Rib Kicking Being Inside Of My Wife,

Look kid: don’t take this personally but: It’s 37 weeks now, so……..

Get. Out.

It’s all over. Finished.

Scram! Hit the road! Take a hike (crawl)!

You’re done, son. Cooked. Baked. Ripe.

The checkered flag is waving. The final buzzer has sounded.

The Fat Lady has sung.. (ah, sorry that wasn’t about you, Michelle).

There is absolutely no reason why you aren’t out here with the rest of us, breathing, eating, pooping, trying to get a job, paying taxes and complaining about Congress.

You have officially overstayed your welcome. Consider this your eviction notice.

Cordially,

The Guy Who Is Not Your Father But Is Married To The Vessel You Are Residing In.

 

Almost Go Time

Sent to my co-workers today:

Our 9-month long adventure is just about over. Thank goodness, too, because this devil spawn kid is on the verge of overstaying his welcome. Given the 24/7 demolition derby going on inside Michelle,  I predict his future career choice will be:

A)     Blacksmith

B)      NASCAR driver that likes to swap paint

C)      Crash test dummy

D)     Philly fan who enjoys running onto the field during a game

 So this is a heads up that I’ll be tethered to my cell phone, on alert for the ‘It’s go time’ call. When you hear my new ringtone of the song ‘Having my Baby’, well you’ll know what’s up.

 (Hey: Can I get that song at CD Baby?)

 This afternoon I’m out around 2:15. Going to watch her Doc do one of these amazing 3-D ultrasounds. I understand you can see every nook/cranny/detail of the child-to-be, including his preference for boxers or briefs, Coke or Pepsi, and future political leanings.

 

The Waiting Game

No way. No way in hell that Michelle goes another month before this baby pops out.

I mean, cmon…take a look at her:

 She’s READY!

Alright, that’s not really Michelle. We’ll be shooting some pics this weekend to remember this special period in her life…and mine. And I’ll be making my typical rude comments about needing a wide angle lens to get it all in.

But we’re finally at the point where the end is in sight. It could really happen at any moment. Michelle has a small overnight bag packed and sitting by the door, ready to go at a moment’s notice. I’m carrying around my cellphone with me everywhere at work because I’ll never know when ‘the call’ is coming. And that would be a first.

I wonder if we’ll actually get to live out that traditional “rush her to the hospital because she’s in labor’ thing. As you know, we’ve traveled down this road before. Twice in fact. But in both cases, our girls had to be…well, encouraged….to join us in this world.

It’s no exaggeration to say that Michelle was 10 months pregnant with our first child, Emma. She was three weeks overdue when her doctor finally said we needed to induce her. THREE WEEKS! Emma was practically walking and talking when she was born.

With Sara it wasn’t quite as drawn out. In fact Michelle still thinks her doctor got the dates mixed up and actually had her induced a week early. But there we were again, with a date and time scheduled for her birth.

Will this time be different? Will I get the panicked call from Michelle, telling me her water broke in the middle of Lowes and I need to come rescue her?  Or maybe it will be in the middle of the night when this little boy decides he’s tired of using Michelle’s kidney for a punching bag, and he’s ready to join the human race.

 

Michelle Gets Her Answer, I Get A Tour

Three places I never ever EVER expected to be in this lifetime:

A) Sharing a bag of pork rinds with Queen Elizabeth in Buckingham Palace.

B) On the pitchers mound of Citizen’s Bank Park, World Series Game 7, Bottom of the ninth, two out….

C) Touring a maternity ward as a 50 year old guy with my pregnant wife.

And yet there we were last weekend at our local hospital, St. Mary’s, getting the lay of the land. Preggo Land, that is. I can report that not a whole lot has changed in baby-delivering technology or aesthetics in the past 14 years, or so it appears to me.

(A long aside:  I was about to refer to myself in the sentence above as…this expectant Dad. But that’s not right. That’s not my title here. I’m neither the Dad. Nor am I expectant.

So as I’m typing this, I ask Michelle across the room: What the hell am I. Her response.

“You’re my… Labor Coach. My Number One Supporter. My Number One Cheerleader,” she said. Obviously she’s having a hard time coming up with my role.

“You are….making sure the job gets done. You’re seeing this to the end! You’re…..” She gave up. Gotta come up with something. And soon!)

Back to the tour: Michelle and I inspected the place on a recent Saturday afternoon. St Mary’s is about 5 minutes down the road from us and was the obvious choice for the big event. The hospital gives tours only once a week, so we were herded through the rooms with two other Moms-to-be and their entourage. All of us looked a bit weary, especially the rotund females. All of them, including Michelle, looked like they were ready to drop their loads right then and there.

While the facility itself seems a little dated, the attentive staff members we met more than compensated for a less than state-of the-art feel of the place. They happily answered every question tossed their way, including my wife’s one and only question:

“Is alcohol allowed in the delivery room?” 

For the past few weeks, Michelle has been focusing on getting through the rigors of labor by visualizing having a glass of very good champaign after the deed is done. “None of the cheap crap,” she’s told me. “No ‘Andre’ or ‘Cold Duck'”.

If that’s how she keeps her eye on the prize….so be it.

For the record, Michelle got the anwer she was looking for.  The nurses on duty said champaign would be fine….”as long as you share with us.”

It was a pretty brief tour — the materity ward was almost full up that weekend. Everything seemed ultra organized and arranged in logical way, with the birthing rooms just steps away from the NICU, C-Section Operating Rooms, and just a short walk to the Post Delivery rooms and, finally, the  nursery.

It was at that final stop that I’ll remember most about this Saturday afternoon. The nursery was almost empty — all the babies had been taken to be with their Moms. But there was one tiny little child still in the unit, and the nurse on duty rolled her over to the windows for the group to view.

I looked over to see Michelle’s eyes welling up with tears.

Uh oh.

 

Into The Home Stretch

Michelle speaks:

Near the end of the journey. Currently 34 weeks, and so far so good.

Getting more and more uncomfortable and sleeping less and less, but I guess that it normal and to be expected.  I dont know how I am going to feel once this is all over, empty?  A void? Normal?

The life inside me is a strong kicker and likes to dance a lot especially when I drive.  Very distracting. 

Another thought that hits me is this is the last tiime that I can be this fat.  All of my skinny clothes are waiting for me and expecting me to put them on very soon……as does my husband. 

There are a lot of things I wasn,t prepared for or could have thought of way in advance, like being so out of breath and tired just from walking up a flight of stairs, or dropping something on the ground and letting it stay there because its too hard to pick it up.

My family has been so great helping around the house, and always asking if there is anything they can do to help……what a blessing.  This journey was to help another couple make their dreams come true but it also made us stonger as a married couple, closer as a family. On top of that, now we have new friends that we share a truly special bond and we will all love, nurture and watch this little boy grow up totally surrounded by those who cared enough to bring  him into the world.  I dont know how the majority of other surrogate/intended parent relationships go, but this one may be too good to be true.

With only a few weeks to go I am anxious about the birth, the unknown, the hows, the pain and the what happens after.  We as a family have a very busy summer, fall and winter planned. I do look forward to getting back on my feet, amping up my business, and rewarding my family for all of their support through this journey of love.

 

The Rewards Of NO Responsibility

My last post talked about what I’ll be missing out on in 16 years. This post is what I won’t be missing out on in a few weeks.

I’ve been a huge Conan O’Brien fan for years. Always regretted that I never got tickets when he was doing his Late Night gig just up the road in New York City. Then he moved to LA to take on the Tonight Show….and we all know what happened next.

Fast forward to today, as I was scanning the internets. There was a blurb about Conan taking  his act on the road while he is barred from being on TV. Checking the tour schedule….YES! He’s going to be in Atlantic City on May 30. My credit card number was already punched in when…………… I remembered.

Oh crap. Michelle’s due date. May 26.

And here’s the place — right HERE — where being the ‘surrogate’ and not the ‘intended parent’ has its advantages.

Because assuming Michelle is on schedule….. the Conan show is just four days after the big event.

Barb and Michelle, the intended parents, will be spending all their time getting to know the newest member of their family. Talk about ‘Late Night’ gigs.

Meanwhile, Michelle will be on her way to Atlantic City, hoisting a few glasses of champaign, laughing at CoCo’s antics.